


I'm under your spell...

by WastingYourGum



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Hypnotism, M/M, WIP
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:38:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WastingYourGum/pseuds/WastingYourGum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even with the nicotine patches Lestrade is struggling to keep off the cigarettes. </p>
<p>Sherlock suggests hypnosis...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> _I'm under your spell, like a man in a trance,_  
>  _But I know darn well that I don't stand a chance so_  
>  _Unchain my heart, let me go my way_  
>  _Unchain my heart, you worry me night and day_  
>  _Why lead me through a life of misery_  
>  _When you don't care a bag of beans for me_  
>  _So unchain my heart, oh please, please set me free_  
>  \- Ray Charles [[x](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PA_s3VbSHLA)]
> 
> When a friend on Tumblr asked for "Sherstrade, mind control" - my brain instantly went to [this](http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/9640.html?thread=45499560#t45499560) prompt I made many moons ago on the kinkmeme. It was partially filled and then abandoned... I still visit from time to time to mourn. :(
> 
> So in memory of that prompt, here's something similar.

The first time Sherlock suggested hypnosis as a method of helping Lestrade quit smoking - with Sherlock as the hypnotist - he was met with a resounding “Fuck off!"

He wasn’t discouraged; that had been the expected response. He knew it would take time, but he was determined and so, like a sculptor with a block of marble, he gradually chipped away at Lestrade’s opposition.

"Fuck off" became “No", became “I’m tired of telling you no, Sherlock", became “Will you please just drop it?" until after several months he finally heard “Oh, for fucks sake - if it’ll make you stop asking…"

"Excellent. Eight o’clock tonight, my flat. Dress comfortably."

"Fine - and you’re paying for the take away this time."

"If you insist…"

——

"I must be out of my tiny mind," Lestrade muttered later as he sat back in the large armchair in Sherlock’s living room.

"I hope not, I’d hate to find it empty when I get in there," Sherlock replied.

"It’s the state you leave it in that worries me. Anyway - I thought that’s what you’d expect to find. You’re always telling me what little brains I’ve got."

"On the contrary, Lestrade. I think you are blessed with slightly more brains than the majority of your colleagues - it’s your wilful insistence on not using them, I object to."

"Thanks." Lestrade fidgeted nervously in his chair.

"Do try to relax."

"Ok, it’s just…"

"What?"

"I’m worried you’ll have me doing stupid things like pretending I’m a dog or something."

Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes. “Hypnosis doesn’t work like that. I can’t order you to do things you don’t want to. I’m going to make _suggestions_ that help you do things you _do_ want to do - like stop smoking."

"OK."

Lestrade settled back and Sherlock talked him slowly down to a more relaxed state. His eyelids grew heavier and he fought to keep them open until Sherlock finally got him to close his eyes. Lestrade’s head lolled to one side, his breathing was deep and even, and all the tension had melted out of his body.

Sherlock was inordinately pleased - he’d suspected Lestrade would be very receptive to hypnosis and possibly highly suggestible. So far his responses had done nothing to disprove that theory.

"How do you feel, Greg?"

"Heavy."

Interesting choice of word but—

"Tired… Old… Frustrated…"

"What frustrates you?"

"The job… So many bloody forms and meetings and arse-kissing… Should be doing more…"

If there was anybody in the Met doing more than Lestrade, Sherlock would be very surprised.

"And you," Lestrade added.

"Me?" Sherlock fought to exorcise the surprise from his voice and keep his tone calm and even.

"So brilliant, but so hard to get you to help… "

Ah. This again. They’d had this conversation before.

"And so gorgeous… Those lips of yours…"

That was definitely not in the script. Sherlock was more certain than ever Lestrade was detached from his conscious mind - he’d have to be to even to voice such a thing.

"You think I’m gorgeous." Sherlock prompted.

"Course you are." Lestrade frowned. “Can’t tell you that though. You’d never let me hear the end of it."

"It’s alright, Greg. You needn’t worry. If you did tell me, I’d be very pleased - but you haven’t."

"OK."

"Why does me being gorgeous frustrate you, Greg?"

Lestrade frowned again. “Makes me… Make me think things I shouldn’t."

"What sort of things?"

Lestrade shook his head and Sherlock backed off.

"What do you like about smoking, Greg?"

"Relaxes me… Nice to stand and share a fag break with other people too. Gives you a moment to think."

"So why do you want to stop?"

"Costs too much, bad for me, makes me short of breath."

"Good. Let’s start there. Whenever you get a craving for a cigarette, I want you to think about being short of breath, your mouth will get dry and the craving will go away much quicker than before."

"OK."

Sherlock grinned. “And… when you see me lick my lips, you’ll think how nice it would be to kiss somebody that doesn’t smoke- but only if you don’t smoke yourself."

"Yeah…"

"Well done. Now, I want you to picture yourself slowing waking up from a very deep relaxing sleep…"

——

Greg blinked.

Sherlock was sitting across from him with his his feet up on the chair and his knees tucked under his chin, staring at him.

Greg checked his watch - 20 minutes had disappeared.

"That was it?" he asked.

Sherlock nodded. “That was it. How do you feel?"

"Fine, I guess. Quite relaxed."

"Excellent. Same time on Thursday?"

"What?"

"Reinforcement, Lestrade. It’s not a one-time thing. We need to make sure it sticks."

"Oh, right." Greg mentally checked his calendar. “Yeah, I guess Thursday is OK."

"Splendid." Sherlock flashed him a quick smile and licked his lips.

_God, that mouth… Would be nice to kiss him and not worry about the taste of fags…_ Greg felt his face flush slightly. Where the hell had that come from? He had more chance of snogging the Queen than Sherlock.

"Everything alright, Lestrade?" Sherlock asked.

"Yeah, fine. Thursday. Great. See you then." Greg grabbed his coat and bolted down the stairs…

—-

Sherlock stretched out his legs and leaned back, putting his hands behind his head.

This could turn out to be quite entertaining…


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade let himself into 221B Baker Street at 8:17 on Thursday evening.

Sherlock was sitting in his favourite chair. He'd just started revising his plan for the evening on the outside chance that Lestrade didn't show up at all. He hastily deleted the revisions and re-instated his previous outline.

"Sorry I'm late," Lestrade said as soon as he was through the door. He set down the bags of Chinese food he was carrying on the coffee table. "Brought dinner though." He grabbed some plates from the kitchen, sat down in the middle of the sofa and started opening cartons.

"Something interesting at work?" Sherlock asked. He could already tell from Lestrade's shoes that there wasn't.

"Ah, no. Sorry. I was, um... I was trying to decide if I was going to come actually."

Apologetic, nervous and feeling more inclined to be honest out of some misplaced sense of guilt - perfect.

"How are the cravings?" Sherlock asked.

"Good, yeah. I mean... better, easier to ignore. That's what made me think it has to be worth sticking at it. Those suggestions of yours must be working."

Sherlock already knew that from the slightly glazed look Lestrade had given him when he'd licked his lips last time.

"Still not sure I like the idea of you poking around in my subconscious like that though," Greg added before taking a huge mouthful of noodles.

Sherlock shifted forward on his chair, grabbed a chopstick and speared a Dim Sum with it. "Lestrade, I explained this. You want to stop smoking, don't you?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"You know it's bad for you and makes you short of breath?"

"Mmm."

"So all I've done is prompted your brain to remember that a bit more when you feel like smoking." Sherlock popped the Dim Sum into his mouth.

Greg swallowed before answering. "I suppose..."

"Remember, I can't make you do anything or think anything you don't really want to. It has to be tied in to your subconscious desires or it won't work."

"Yeah, I know." He still didn't sound totally convinced.

"Excellent." Sherlock skewered another dumpling. "These are actually rather good." He waited for Lestrade to look up from his own plate before sucking the small white ball into his mouth and licking his lips...

 

* * *

 

Greg quickly looked away as found himself once more vividly imagining what it would be like to kiss him and taste _Sherlock_ instead of cigarette.

Imagining kissing Sherlock wasn't anything new - he'd been doing that since he'd met the arrogant jumped-up little bastard - but the focus on the taste of it was; Greg couldn't help worrying that was another thing Sherlock had somehow suggested during that hypnosis session.

_I can't make you think anything you don't really want to..._

But if Sherlock had suggested that, then that would mean that he knew it was something Greg wanted... and Greg just couldn't imagine that Sherlock wouldn't gloat about finding out something like that.

He was absolutely certain that if Sherlock knew some of the things Greg imagined late at night, alone in his room, spilling himself over his stomach with Sherlock's name on his lips, then he would never be allowed to live it down.

No, Sherlock hadn't mentioned it, so he couldn't know... so the kissing thing was just his brain doing what it usually did but with a minor variation, probably since he had smoking in mind anyway.

Yeah. That must be it...

 

* * *

 

Sherlock watched Lestrade's changing emotions - doubt, panic, (arousal?), uncertainty and finally, acceptance - flit across his face, broadcasting his internal dialogue on a frequency Sherlock was long since attuned to.

He enjoyed watching Lestrade's face when he thought he was keeping it carefully neutral; to anyone else he may seem stern or taciturn but to Sherlock, he was an open book.

Sherlock would often entertain himself by playing back Lestrade's facial expressions in his head, particularly when he'd been explaining something to him. John was purely vocal in his admiration when he caught up with Sherlock but Lestrade was far more guarded, which made catching the moments of understanding, awe and even a little bit of pride that occasionally slipped through his carefully constructed mask of cynicism all the more rewarding.

He'd completely missed the attraction though. It was a familiar enough expression - Sherlock saw it on a lot of people on meeting him for the first time - but he'd never spotted it on Lestrade. Of course the fact their first few meetings had happened when Sherlock was high as a kite probably meant it could have been there at the start but by the time Sherlock had started paying attention to Lestrade's face, he'd successfully removed that expression from it.

And he'd successfully managed to hide it from him all this time... fascinating.

Well, clearly that had to change. Lestrade's "God you're clever" face had been one of Sherlock's favourites but his "God I want to kiss you" face had instantly usurped all others in Sherlock's esteem and he wanted to see a lot more of it.

"So, feeling up for another session then, Lestrade?"

And once he'd persuaded Lestrade that _showing_ his desires was OK, they'd work on getting him to _act_ on them...


	3. Chapter 3

After Lestrade cleared away the remnants of the meal, Sherlock had him settle back into John's chair so he could be gradually talked down into a suggestive state again.

It didn't go as smoothly as the first time. Lestrade was fidgety, unable to fully relax. His head was resting against the back of the chair but Sherlock could see the tension in his neck and shoulder muscles.

Sherlock thought carefully. He had to find a scenario that Lestrade could place himself in where he could feel safe and comfortable.

He thought about what he knew of Lestrade's habits. Where would he feel more relaxed? Come to think of it, what did Lestrade _do_ when he wasn't working? Sherlock knew he played football but that was far too active. He needed to put him somewhere...

Aha.

"Greg, I want you to think of your bedroom... It's late at night, you're safe and warm in your own bed, letting yourself gradually unwind before you drift off to sleep…"

Lestrade settled a little deeper into the chair.

Sherlock let his eyes drift down Lestrade's body, checking his posture as he kept speaking. "Nobody is going to disturb you… You're perfectly relaxed... You're--"

_Aroused?_

Sherlock leaned closer. There was a definite bulge in Lestrade's trousers.

_Oh, now that_ is _interesting...._

Sherlock carried on speaking in a soft monotone. "All the tension in your muscles is just flowing away as you sink deeper into the warm bed... You're growing more and more relaxed... All the stress slowly melting away..."

Lestrade's head lolled back against the top of the chair. Nearly all of him was looking more relaxed now; a significant part of him wasn't. Sherlock watched, fascinated, as the bulge gradually swelled to a firm outline.

Lestrade let out a low groan.

Sherlock flinched backwards in alarm and held his breath… He had been leaning so close to Lestrade's body he'd been almost touching him without realising it.

No, it was alright. Sherlock let his breath out slowly.

Lestrade's eyes were still closed and his body was still loose but a small frown was making his eyebrows crease together. It was another familiar look on him that Sherlock was quite fond of seeing.

"You want to relax, don't you, Greg? Such a long day, lots of hard work and frustration... You want to let go of all of that tension..."

Lestrade mumbled something. The frown remained.

"You're safe and warm in your own bed. There's nobody here… Just you and my voice in your head..."

"God, your voice..." Lestrade muttered. His hips shifted slightly and his hands tightened their grip on the arms of the chair he was sitting in.

"You like my voice, don't you, Greg?"

Lestrade gave another unintelligible groan.

His right hand dragged itself from the chair towards his crotch. It hovered uncertainly, centimetres from his erection.

_God, he's thinking about stroking himself off! And to my voice!_ Sherlock was astonished. Was this how Lestrade relaxed? Thinking of him?

Lestrade's fingers clenched and released but still couldn't quite break whatever invisible barrier his mind was putting between them and their target.

Sherlock leaned in closer again. _Come on… What's he waiting for?_

Then it hit him.

"It's OK, Greg... I know what you want… You want my voice in your head, telling you what to do..."

He got out of his seat and moved round to crouch behind Lestrade's chair. He kept his eyes fixed on Lestrade's hand as he whispered directly into his ear.

"You have my permission to touch yourself..."


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh God, thank you."

Lestrade's fingers curled around the bulge in his trousers, giving it a firm squeeze. He grunted and his hips canted up, arching his back and making his head tip back over the top of the chair. His Adam's apple bobbed prominently in the side of Sherlock's field of vision but Sherlock couldn't tear his eyes away from Lestrade's hand stroking his cock.

Clearly Lestrade had a submissive streak - fascinating.

_I wonder if…?_

"Stop."

Lestrade whined but Sherlock was amazed to see that he did as he was told; his hand didn't lift from his groin but it stilled. Sherlock could see the muscles in his forearm tightening and relaxing as his fingers twitched with the obvious need to continue. He shifted restlessly in his seat, trying to press up against his hand without making it look like he was doing so. Obedient - but with the urge to push the boundaries.

This level of arousal couldn't be from Sherlock's voice alone; he hadn't said that much. Lestrade must be drawing stimulus from other sources.

"Tell me what you're thinking of."

"I… I…" Lestrade's jaw worked and his face reddened as his embarrassment fought with the impulse to obey Sherlock's voice and share his fantasy.

"Where are you?"

"I… My office. I'm in my office."

_Interesting..._

"What are you doing?"

"I'm… I..."

Sherlock leaned closer so his lips were almost brushing Lestrade's ear. He lowered his voice - in both senses of the word.

"Be a good boy and tell me what you're doing, Greg."

Lestrade made a sound high back in his throat before words spilled out of him like a dam bursting, "Oh God. I'm on my knees sucking your cock and you've got your hands in my hair and you're... you're _fucking_ my mouth and we could get caught by anybody any moment and I _don't care_."

Sherlock found his eyes drawn to Lestrade's mouth as he felt a flush of arousal sweep over him. That was a very appealing scenario. He couldn't possibly act upon it now without breaking Lestrade out of his trance but it was definitely worth filing away for future reference.

"And you're desperate to touch yourself while I'm doing that, aren't you?"

Lestrade nodded. He was practically panting now and a thin sheen of sweat had appeared on his forehead.

Sherlock was feeling quite warm himself - and his trousers were feeling a little tighter than they had been. He was also seized with the familiar feeling of wanting to _know_ \- and what he wanted to know right now was what Lestrade looked like when he was pleasuring himself.

"Go on then. Take it out - but no touching until I say you can."

Lestrade fumbled with the button of his jeans, then unzipped his fly and without any hesitation, shoved his trousers and boxer shorts down.

His cock sprang free and his hand moved towards it before he remembered Sherlock's order. He stopped himself and put his hand back on his thigh. His fingers tightened against his skin, itching to return to their task.

Sherlock took a long look, cataloguing Lestrade's length, girth, veins, ridges, the shade of the head compared to the shaft, the viscosity of the fluid gently seeping from the tip...

It was, he decided, a very nice cock.

"Greg, listen to me very carefully but don't do anything until I say 'now'," he commanded. "I want you to play through your fantasy. Imagine yourself anywhere you like, in any situation, as long as I'm in control. When I allow you to come - and you will not come until I say you can - you will keep your eyes closed and you will continue to focus on the sound of my voice and nothing else. You will feel completely safe and relaxed. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

 _Sir?_ Sherlock's breath caught. Apparently he was finding things out about his own preferences as well as Lestrade's tonight. He'd always enjoyed bossing people about but this was different. Was it just the situation or was it different because it was Lestrade who was so willing to cede control to him? So many things he had to investigate...

"Remember, you may not come until I say you can… but you may touch yourself _now_."


End file.
